


promise me, there were no feelings involved

by Rori



Category: Bleach
Genre: (like all of us), Eventual Smut, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Pining, Porn With Plot, Post-Canon, Post-Thousand Year Blood War Arc, Sub Urahara Kisuke, Then lovers, Top Kurosaki Ichigo, Yoruichi Has The Best Ideas, Yoruichi&Urahara are bros, just Urahara thirsting over adult Ichigo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:47:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24896434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rori/pseuds/Rori
Summary: Ichigo is single again.And it's stupid that it fucks him up so much, right?They just shared a heated kiss years ago. It was a drunken accident. No big deal was made.ButIchigoissingle again.
Relationships: Kurosaki Ichigo/Urahara Kisuke, Shihouin Yoruichi & Urahara Kisuke
Comments: 12
Kudos: 152





	promise me, there were no feelings involved

**Author's Note:**

> I was pushed to write this. I'm enjoy it though!
> 
> And it's going to be a Wednesday update, probably for a few weeks; plot is simple, post-canon Urahara is thirsting over a 30-ish yo Ichigo, who recently divorced Inoue. I'm ignoring the part where he has a kid. They end up fucking all over the shops and falling in love like the idiot they are.
> 
> Have fun :D (I certainly did)
> 
> Title is from Charlie Puth's song, 'How Long'.

‘You sure you really won’t?’

Urahara tipped his head back a little, baring his throat, all half-lidded eyes and sweet temptation; the soft fabric of his dark green kimono slid off his shoulder, slowly, invitingly. That particular number had never quite worked on Yoruichi, especially when she held in her hands their last bottle of sake. 

She leveled sharp, but at the same time very much unfazed golden eyes at him; her gaze went to the naked skin of his shoulder, to his discarded bob, to the long dip of his front clothes that exposed his chest and stomach. 

‘I won’t,’ she half-barked at him, her smile sharp and toothy; they were seated in the back room of the shop, shoji doors slid open and the ceiling fan running to catch what little fresh breeze they could. 

Summer, in the mortal world, had always been a harsh season. Fresh sake and Yoruichi’s company usually made it easier to bear, but this time around, July was a whole different story altogether.

‘Come on... I’m a sad, sad man,’ Kisuke crooned, brushing his blond hair away from his damp forehead. 

‘If I started giving in every time you felt sad,’ Yoruichi taunted him in return, not bothering to finish her sentence as she poured what little was left of the sake in her cup. Her eyes followed the fat droplet of alcohol all of the way from the neck of the bottle to the little pond that had formed between her fingers - 

‘It’s different this time,’ Kisuke pouted, opening his fan in one swift gesture of his wrist. He started agitating it, wishing the air felt cooler against his skin. 

‘Oh yeah,’ Yoruichi replied, sounding so deeply unconvinced it made them both share a smile. She paused, though, the cup half-way to her lips. ‘Do tell, _Urahara-san_.’

He crossed his arms over his exposed chest, wishing he had never told her that particular bit. 

Through clenched teeth, Kisuke still decided to give her what he considered to be an unsatisfying answer - not because it was an outright lie, but because he really enjoyed the way her little face scrunched up when he did. She was really cute when she did that. And whatever he told her, she was going to drink the full cup anyway, and then lick at the bottleneck to get whatever was left inside.

‘So bitchy today,’ Yoruichi grumbled playfully, her tongue and lips very pink as they reached the edge of her cup. She chugged it down in one go, and added with a sly smile that screamed danger, ‘He probably could use the support, though. Why don’t you ask him to join us?’

He gave her a long, pointed look - they’d already had that conversation before, and it had ended up in a very stupid, and very drunken fistfight. It had been a lot less hot, at the time. And there had been considerably more alcohol, because the whole Ichigo situation had not yet backfired on his personal stash. 

‘Isshin and his friends are here for that,’ Kisuke said, all sharpness but no bite; who was he fooling, really? 

‘Aren’t you his friend, as well?’

He gave her a look that meant as good as _please_. ‘I’m an old hobo with a hat and a cat,’ Kisuke murmured dismissively. ‘A pretty cat, sure,’ he added with an overly sweet smile, all charming undertones, ‘but not such a pretty hat or shop owner.’

‘Yeah, you look like an old hag,’ Yoruichi remarked after giving him a quick but very judgmental once-over.

‘Indeed,’ Urahara easily agreed, dramatically letting the deep green fabric of his kimono slide off his other shoulder. He winked at her then.

Yoruichi burst out laughing, her cheeks colored red by the alcohol and her glee making her yellow eyes shine. ‘Keep that for your pretty boy,’ she drawled, reaching for the empty sake bottles on the wooden tray between them.

She tipped one, and then another over her tongue; it had burned hot on his own, when Kisuke had taken his first sip, earlier that day. 

He stretched out on the floor, cat-like, his jacket fully removed now. Outside, the sky was of a clear, cloudless, and undiluted blue - he felt old, sometimes, older than the world for all he had seen and done, for the many sins he had yet to atone for. Thankfully, half of the world had forgotten about it. The other half, well - they had forgiven him in light of his unexpected (but very welcomed) help in the Aizen and Quincy matters.

‘You think he still remembers?’

Yoruichi sighed so deeply and for so long - for a second, it was like her annoyance had taken up residency in her lungs. ‘Why wouldn’t he.’

‘Why would he,’ Urahara replied, feeling the warm bite of the July breeze on his skin, his fan discarded along with the empty bottles and cups. It made all the fine hair on his body rise, and once again he pushed his blonde bangs out of his eyes - it was his turn to sigh, wondering when this heat would end. 

‘I know he didn’t,’ Yoruichi countered with a small smile. ‘Nobody can forget you, not really,’ she added, tipping yet another bottle, but this time over his chest, his stomach. She watched intently as the remnants of the sake bottle made their way around the muscles and the scars, looking a bit like sweat and sometimes even reflecting the blinding white light of the sun.

‘It was just a kiss,’ he despaired, hiding his face in his hands.

‘That’s usually the start of a good night,’ Yoruichi pointed out, poking him in the ribs.

‘You are such a depraved person-’

‘Please, as if you are not worst-’

‘I didn’t put my tongue in my student’s lady parts,’ Urahara pointed out in an accusatory tone, pushing the heels of his palm into his eyelids, turning to his side to avoid yet another gentle blow to his ribcage.

‘Not yet,’ Yoruichi replied smugly, which elated a pained cry from him. 

Kisuke’s hands moved from his eyes to his hears, and he started humming that upbeat tune the radio couldn't stop from sputtering out all day. It didn’t quite drown Yoruichi’s voice and all her casual suggestions about what he should do to his own student unlady parts.

‘I wonder if they even fucked,’ Yoruichi mumbled after a moment, sounding exhausted by the sound of her own voice for a second. ‘They looked so sweet together. He probably never-’

‘Please, don’t,’ Kisuke moaned, blindly throwing his balled-up jacket at her. It didn’t reach her, instead of floating slowly to the floor. 

And for a few seconds, his dearest friend was mercifully silent. ‘Really, I don’t get why you are making such a fuss about it, Kisuke,’ Yoruichi started again, half-slumped against the wall. ‘You kissed once-’

‘Twice,’ he cut, very insistent on that particular point, ‘There were two. Kisses. Twice.’

‘- whatever, he is single now. They signed the papers a week ago. Get a grip. Fucking ask him out,’ she encouraged him, drunkenly gesturing at the whole room. 

‘I’m not-’

‘Ah true, you keep insisting on that, sorry, my mistake,’ she made a show of apologizing, his jacket between her hands. She threw it right back at him, but unlike him, she didn’t miss. ‘No feelings, just - how did you put it, last time?’

‘Lusting over him,’ he corrected, his tone clipped. 

‘Ah yes, _lusting_.’

‘I am a disgusting old man,’ Urahara lamented again, hiding his face in his jacket. 

‘... You know he isn’t fifteen anymore, right?’

He peeked at her above the green line of the fabric. ‘Not like can I forget that,’ he muttered.

Yoruichi clicked her tongue. ‘Then just fucking do something,’ she groaned, appalled at his lack of common sense. 

‘Not yet.’ A heartbeat or two; then, ‘... He is probably even hotter, now.’

‘I hate you so much,’ Yoruichi breathed out, pinching the bridge of her nose. 

‘Lies! Slander! You love me,’ he exclaimed, finally turning to her again and meeting her predatory yellow eyes. 

‘You’re lucky that I do.’ 

Then, Yoruichi laughed, but she wouldn’t forget anything - he could speak to her in five different languages and never use the same words, yet she’d still understand, she’d still know. It didn’t mean she always understood what was going on in that overly complicated head of his, though what she had gently dubbed the Ichigo Situation, well - that part she got right. After all, Yoruichi had fucked her student. Multiple times. She was nothing short of an expert on this matter, and Kisuke never missed an occasion to remind her that. Urahara supposed that him fucking Ichigo was probably just a way of evening things out between them. 

It had been a fun joke, at first - and then, there had been that fateful night, three or four years ago. He remembered it vividly but voluntarily kept it vague when talking about it - Yoruichi had that habit of interrogating him on every detail, dissecting every bit of the story until she could tell it backward. It was probably a leftover professional quirk from their days in the Second Squad. So Urahara just got used to not tell her anything too detailed. So yeah, it really had been three and a half years ago, and it was a Thursday. October, but still warm - summer was over already, had been for a few weeks, but did not seem ready to let go. The evening had been a bit hot and the sun already hanging low in the sky when Ichigo had dropped by, a sports bag slung loosely over his shoulder. 

Long story short: they had spared, and Urahara being the nice host he is, had offered refreshments after. The idea had not been to get thoroughly drunk, but one drink leading to another - they had been pleasantly tipsy, and the room had had that heady, sweet, and sweat and alcohol mix to it. The kind that you didn’t bring a flame near, the kind you wanted to put into a bottle and get an intoxicating whiff of every now and then, the kind that crackled like lightning without the light and sound but not any less violent or wild. The kind that had to lead them to, well, share one sloppy, heavenly kiss that could have stayed an accident; but neither of them had let it, pushing for another one, open-mouthed and unforgettable. 

But Ichigo had already been married at the time, with the Inoue girl. 

Closing his eyes, Urahara pushed the intrusive thought away. Maybe he should invite him again, to finish what they had started. Ply him with alcohol, push at his collar to kiss that throat, convince him to just-

‘Please, tell me you are not hard.’

‘I am not hard,’ Urahara parroted dutifully.

‘I’m telling Ichigo,’ Yoruichi promised weakly, though in a tone threatening enough to make him laugh. 

‘Go on,’ he replied, a bit weary. ‘Maybe he will be disgusted enough to never come back.’

‘You’re such a bitch, Kisuke.’

‘But a lovely one, right?’

It was not really late, but apparently late enough for Yoruichi to go; _things to do_ , she had claimed, to which he had suggested _Sui Feng?_ with a sly smile that had earned him a nice ass smack. 

The heated air coming from the outside had not recessed, not even a little - the sun was steadily going down, though, so it wouldn’t take too long for the temperature to drop a little. Enough to actually _sleep_ instead of tossing and turning. The sky was still cloudless and clear, of a deeper blue now than it had been earlier. Yoruichi had brought him an elastic band to wear his hair in a short ponytail, instead of letting it hang in his eyes in sweaty clumps; he never quite got the hang of it, but it sure felt nicer than wearing his hat in such a relentless weather. 

‘Maybe I should really just invite him over,’ Kisuke mused, a smoking pipe precariously perched between his fingers; the smoke was rising in rings of a greyish white, smelling of spices that seemed to remain alive longer in the hot summer air. 

What would they talk about, then? 

And how did you ease someone _like him_ into casual sex? 

Ichigo seemed impossible to even seduce.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~EXCEPT HE WASN'T~~


End file.
